


teach us to number our days

by poalimal



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fic in the Time of Quarantine, Gen, Grief, M/M, Misogyny, Tension, Wakes & Funerals, shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:54:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26196712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poalimal/pseuds/poalimal
Summary: I wish I could see the man you will become.
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes & Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	teach us to number our days

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the psalm - or perhaps [the poet](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43357/teach-us-to-number-our-days).

Talk about commitment - oh, Gabriel was _committed_. 'He was like a father to me,' he said at the wake, wiping his eyes with a personalised handkerchief. Oh, brother. 'He sent me to college, you know, he helped take care of my mother... I always wanted to repay him.' The out-of-state aunts - Blanche, Rosemary, and Olive - who were perhaps moved more by how handsome Gabriel looked in his suit than by his grief, made sympathetic noises.

Jack, meanwhile, had had to beg and borrow his way through his last two years of college. _His_ mother had lost quite a bit in the divorce. He quite obviously suspected foul play. 

'That man,' he said unsteadily, 'didn't have a paternal bone in his body.' He nearly spilled his drink on Gabriel's shoes. Gabriel glanced down, a mild look on his face. When he saw that the aunts were all afuss over Jack, he let out a little smile that only Jack saw.

'You might be surprised,' said Gabriel.

Jack scowled. 'Don't look at me like that, young man,' Blanche said sharply, wresting his cup from him, 'I think you've had _quite_ enough.'

The wake had something of an open bar. The will reading - a week after the funeral - did not. Jack had to bring his own flask, which he shared with Rosemary in the drawing room while they waited for Cuttles the attorney to arrive. 

Of all the aunts, Jack had always liked Rosemary best. When he was a child, she used to stay at the house while his parents summered in Napa. His father, of course, refused to send him to camp with the neighbourhood riff-raff. Those summers with her had been glorious: she got him all the books he liked, let him eat ice cream and stay up after 8, and, on one notable occasion, had taught him how to shoot a gun. 

She smelled of her herbal cigarettes, still - it made Jack feel nostalgic. 

'How bad do you think it's gonna be in there?' Jack murmured, covertly eyeing Gabriel. He was lingering in front of the study, sleek as ever in his tight pants and dark button up. Olive was talking to him about something - her days as a cult leader, no doubt. Gabriel didn't seem to be listening, really, and to be fair, a lot of her stories did end the same: in orgiastic fervour, quickly broken up in a raid. 

When he saw Jack staring, he flicked up an eyebrow. He had something in his mouth, which he rolled back and forth. Jack looked away. 

Distant thunder roiled. 'Better than you think, I should hope,' Rosemary said, handing the flask back.

Cuttles arrived in the full thrust of the storm, Blanche tucked demurely under his umbrella.

Rosemary was the first to greet them at the door. 'Why, you wicked old whore,' she said pleasantly. 'Cuttles doesn't have the kind of money you're hoping for. Do you, darling?' And she stroked Cuttles by the shoulders as she slid off his soaked duster.

'I,' said Cuttles, breathlessly, staring at Rosemary, 'well, I--'

Blanche went a sickly shade of red. 'All he did was pick me up from the hotel,' she said, yanking her raincoat off and nearly throwing it at the coat rack. 'Of course, I have much less experience in hotels than _you_ do, Rose.'

Rosemary tilted her head. 'H---m. Do whores require hotels? What do you think, my dear?' This, she directed to Cuttles, while she tightened his tie.

'I, ah, well, I,' said Cuttles. 'I think-- ah, sorry, why don't we all go to the study?' And he all but fled from the foyer.

Rosemary and Blanche gave each other a look. 

'Scared little mouse,' Rosemary observed, slinging up the soaked duster beside Blanche's coat.

Blanche began to purse her lips a little, which Jack had always suspected was her idea of a smile. 'I told you we didn't do anything,' she said. 'He wouldn't even know where to put--' here, she sighted Jack and the flask in his hand, and she slid into indignation. '--John James Morrison, Jr! Is that a flask I see?'

'Oh my,' said Olive, drifting away from Gabriel, 'is it really? And you didn't offer me any? Nephew, I'm hurt. You know how I felt about your father.'

Rosemary began to laugh. 'You _despised_ him.'

'Well, exactly!' said Olive. 'Why wouldn't I want a drink?'

'I hope you're not planning to ignore me, Jack,' Blanche said.  
  
'It's purely decorative, Aunt B,' Jack said, tipping all the vodka back into his mouth in one go. Barely even burned. 'See?' he said, tilting the flask to the side. Little drops fell out, onto the leg of his dress pants -- he was very overdressed. 'Py-urely dec-rative.'

'Jesus Christ,' Gabriel muttered. He disappeared from sight, presumably following Cuttles' path.

'What was that?' Jack called after him. 'You have something to say?'

Olive boxed on him on the back of the head. ' _Ow_ ,' he said, hissing in pain. 

'Don't be rude, nephew,' she said pleasantly. 'No yelling in the house.'

'You didn't need to strike him, Olive,' said Blanche, helping Jack to his feet and holding him by the right arm. She smelled of talcum and rosewater. 'Your predilection for violence disturbs me, you know.'

'Yes, it's much better to yell and scowl and snap, I find,' Rosemary said airily.

'If that remark was di-rected at me--' Blanche began.

'I dislike your sense of irony, sister,' Olive said brightly, hooking her arm through Rosemary's as they all walked toward the study. 'You know you are our nephew's favourite. He'd do whatever you say.'

' _He_ is right here, you know,' said Jack.

'Oh, don't be impertinent, Jack,' said Blanche, not unkindly, 'you haven't the looks for it.'

Into the plush study they all came: stopping short behind a rough row of chairs set-up in front of the large mahogany desk, and interrupting what looked to be a rather solemn conversation between Cuttles and Gabriel. Cuttles was, as ever, tall and gangly and incapable of being taken seriously. Gabriel looked up at him like he took him quite seriously indeed.

Again a fog of suspicion descended on Jack. Wicked old whore, he thought at Gabriel, sliding down into the middle chair with a scowl.

The aunts gasped and gaped. Well - Blanche gasped and gaped. Rosemary sat down beside Jack with a clearing of her throat. Olive, last of all, let out a little laugh. 

Shit. Had Jack spoken aloud?

Gabriel sent him a poisonous look. 'You're older than me,' he said shortly, sitting in the furthest chair to the right.

'I didn't mean to say that aloud,' Jack said.

Gabriel didn't even twitch an eyelash. 'Whenever you're ready, Mr Cuttles,' he said smoothly, ignoring Jack entirely. Jack scowled. Blanche and Olive sat down on his other side.

'Of course,' said Cuttles, 'I would be remiss if I did not take the time to discuss the history of this study, which Mr Morrison, Sr only recently renovated. I think he knew his time was coming. In fact, during our last conversation, he said--'

Jack tuned him out. His ears filled with rain.

A few things broke through the buzz, eventually: to his mother, his father left the art collection she'd helped amass, the house in Napa, Gracie the pitbull (whom she'd technically already stolen), and the winery in Bordeaux. To Gabriel's mother, he left several handbags, and the house in Hermosillo. To Blanche, he left Grandmother's fine china and jewellery, and the cabin in Vermont. To Rosemary, he left his telescope, his lepidopterology collection, the beach house in Summerside, various cars, and his gun. To Olive, he left the ranch in Nevada.

'Oh, the ladies will be so pleased!' said Olive, clapping her hands. 'London is terrible for the complexion, you know.'

Blanche paused in blotting beneath her eyes. 'Ladies?' she said. 'I thought you said you were dating _one_ woman, Olive. _One_.'

'Did I say that?' Olive said wonderingly. 'Mm, I don't think I said that.'

'You did say that,' Rosemary confirmed.

'Oh, well!' Olive smiled. 'If I did, I was definitely lying, then. Are you leaving, nephew?'

Jack, who had carefully stood up, now nodded vaguely. That was that, it seemed. But Rosemary reached out and held his wrist. He looked at her curiously.

' _To my son, John James Morrison, Jr_ ,' read Cuttles, _'I leave my deepest regrets. I never truly understood you, and for most of your life, I never really tried. To you, I leave a library I have established in your name, with a collection of 9,915 books. And I know you have never wanted my money, but I have left you $80,000 to pay off your college loans, if you ever change your mind. I wish I'd taken the time to get to know the man you are today_.'

Jack's knees buckled - he sat down hard. 

A library? What the fuck was he supposed to do with a library?

' _And finally_ ,' said Cuttles, ' _to my dear friend and companion, Gabriel Romedio Reyes Guerrero: you were like a son to me. And like my son, you were never as good at lying as you supposed. To you, I leave this house and the ten acres it sits upon, as well as the remainder of my estate, currently valued at about $20 million. You have made these last years of my life worth living. I wish I could see the man you will become._ '

Gabriel made a truly ugly expression, as if trying to swallow down his face. Quickly he stood and left the room. Jack turned to watch him go. 

'Don't worry, Jack,' said Blanche, reaching across Olive to hold his arm. 'We can dispute this. Your father was-- lonely, and vulnerable, toward the end, and that boy clearly took advantage of their relationship--'

Jack patted her hand. 'I don't want to dispute it,' he said, smiling. His vision got a bit blurry, strangely. God, his father hadn't known him at all. He wiped his face carelessly and stood to his feet. 'I should go after him.'

The front door was left open - outside it was still raining. Jack went slowly out on the porch, quietly closing the door behind him. He walked round the wraparound till he located the sound of the sobs. 

Ah - on the left side of the house, Gabriel sat on the porch, beneath the dining room window and beside one of the white wicker seats - now hastily wiping his eyes.

Sometime during the very long divorce, before he'd moved into the city, Jack's mother had made it a habit to send him elaborate model boats from each city she toured. Jack recognised, through the window above Gabriel's head, the blue long-tail boat from Samut Sakhon. She'd sent him a photo of a norland when they'd got the news - and that was how he'd known she wouldn't be coming home for the funeral.

'What do you want, Jack?' Gabriel said, staring up at Jack. He did not even scowl. He seemed, quite simply, tired.

Jack stopped and slid down beside him. Shrugged off his blazer, for he felt overhot. 

The lawn was puddling up with water, he saw; the grass and rose garden were overgrown. Around the house, the woods looked endless.

'What did Cuttles mean?' he said. ' _You were never as good at lying as you supposed_.'

'It doesn't mean anything,' said Gabriel. 'It means your father was a real--' his voice trembled '--a real asshole.'

Jack took his hand. 'Ok, Gabi,' he said, without quite planning to: 'just breathe.'

Gabriel made an embarrassed face. 'I told you quit callin' me that,' he mumbled. 'I got my inhaler. I'll be ok.'

But he squeezed Jack's hand, and leaned his head on his shoulder - slow - trying to match their breathing. If he thought he was going to get out of this conversation by being cute--

well.

Jack relaxed his shoulders - a wider space to rest. Gabriel hummed quietly. Leaned closer.

It was getting cool out - the air almost tasted of autumn. Odd weather, for an August.  
  
'Dad really was an asshole,' Jack mumbled. 'I ever tell you about my ninth birthday? He knew I was scared of dinosaurs. So. He had... life-size models set up in the backyard. He said it would help me face my fears.'

'Mm-mm,' Gabriel mumbled. His eyes were half-closed, his lashes were long and wet. Tomorrow morning Jack would hate him again. 'Tell me.'

Jack spoke till he ran out of words. Together they watched the garden drown.

His cell buzzed, eventually. Once - twice - three times. Texts from someone claiming to be a cousin. He turned his phone off and glimpsed the time. It had almost been half an hour. 

The rain started to thin - the veery began to sing - the sky was still quite dark. Maybe it was time to go back in.

'I thought he was my father,' said Gabriel, low in the crook of his neck. The blood in Jack's ears began to prickle. 'Ma got so sick... and there were all these old photos of them she'd kept hidden. The timeline worked... and I needed help. I needed it to be true. So I found him. I showed him the photos, I said I was his son. And he just said, Ok. Like it was nothing. I thought... I thought he was ours, and he just felt guilty about it. I hated him.

'And I didn't mean to-- lie to you, back then. I really was interested in transferring... I really did think you were my brother.' Gabriel let out a long breath, and wet his lips. Jack thought again of his mouth. '--Anyway. Obviously you weren't. When Ma woke up, she told me... how my actual father had died. And I didn't know how to tell anybody... and I didn't want you to be right. So I changed my number, I dropped out, and just-- went back to my old life.

'And you found me, somehow,' said Gabriel, 'and you said-- you said I wasn't allowed to abandon him.'

Jack remembered. The way Gabriel had looked in his pizzeria uniform, with his shaved head and shocked face and rolled-up sleeves. The way Jack's jaw had ached with wanting him.

'I never actually told him,' said Gabriel. 'I was-- too much of a coward. I think I liked the way he needed me. The way he'd do,' he laughed, 'the stupidest shit if I said it would help us bond. You know he never had a chicken parm hero before? Never rode the subway after a game... never went to the museum for free.' He shook his head. 'And I know how it looked. I know what people said. But it wasn't like that, with him. He had his women... he tried to introduce me to-- socialites, and senator's kids. But I never wanted any of that. I just wanted-- I just wanted to have found him. But I guess he knew all along... that I was nothing to him.' His voice went rough, uneven. 'He must've thought I was lying the whole time.'

Jack scoffed. Gabriel sat up, wounds in his face. Jack rolled his eyes, and pushed Gabriel's head back down on his shoulder. 'Don't get too dramatic,' he said. 'People don't leave $20 million dollars to someone that means nothing to them.'

Gabriel made a strange sound - once - again - and once more. Jack felt tears bleed against his neck. He turned toward Gabriel and opened his arms. 

Gabriel held fast to him. He smelled like bergamot - like cough drops and shaving cream. 

'You know, I should be the one crying,' Jack murmured, blinking quickly. 'You got all his money... all I got was a shit ton of books.'

Gabriel let out a startled laugh and sat back. His face was swollen with tears, now, his hair mashed and unmoussing from all the moisture in the air. At some point he'd used Jack's blazer to fold over the top of his legs. Quickly, deeply, an ache opened in Jack's chest. 

'Did you-- did you want to be a librarian?' asked Gabriel.

'Uh - definitely not,' Jack said. 'But it never really mattered to him, what I wanted.' He never, Jack thought, tried with _me_.

Steadily Gabriel stared at him. 'Well - what do you want?' That question, again.

Jack stared back - carefully - he said: 'I got no fucking idea.' 

Vodka always kept him timid.

He tipped his head back against the house. He could still see the scars above, on the column where they'd scraped out the hornet's nest. 

Nothing but his leg touched Gabriel now. His eyes slid down to the drizzle, his eyes looked deep into the woods. 'How bout you,' he said.

'I don't know, man. I think if I keep it all,' Gabriel said quietly, 'it'll fucking kill me.'

Jack let out a small sigh. 'Yea,' he said. 'Probably.'

The veery sang again, closer now. The sky was lush with dark, racing clouds. Jack wanted, badly, to leave. He wanted to get into his beat-up old car and just go home.

'Listen. I know you probably got,' Gabriel paused, 'a million things you'd rather be doing right now. But could you... stay the night? Here? Please.'

Wind set raindrops afresh from the trees. Jack could smell lavender burning - somewhere, nearby, Rosemary was smoking. He turned and looked into Gabriel's face; and he understood, then, what it felt like: to be needed.

'Yea,' said Jack. 'I'll stay.'

**Author's Note:**

> I had a funny little note planned about the 'reading of the will' scene we see in movies all the time. But Chadwick Boseman passed away while I was finishing this. And I am left - so very sad.


End file.
